Half Human
by Miss Lestrade
Summary: After the events of Human Error, Chase questions himself and his life. There seems to be only one option: suicide. Can House see past his own faults and help him? A Chase and House friendship story.


Half Human

I do not own House, 'cause if I did, it would probably be ruined. Heh.

** Spoliers** for Human Error!

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Chase lay curled up on his bed, his hair falling carefully over his eyes. He hadn't gotten up in about four hours or so…but he hadn't been sleeping. He'd been doing some thinking. Four hours of thinking, to be exact. After careful deliberation and weighing of options, he decided he wanted to die.

It might have been an absurd thought to him a day or two ago, but now he wasn't so keen on continuing his horrifically failing life. He'd been brought up strictly. He had been taught not to give in. But Chase didn't care. His father was dead, and his mother was dead. He had no brothers or sisters, and no other immediate family that came to mind.

Rolling over onto his back, he looked up at the light dancing across the ceiling. What about friends? _Foreman? No, Foreman hated him. House? He nearly laughed at the absurdity. Cameron? She just wanted him as someone would want a fix. Cuddy? No. Wilson? Nothing special._ He had no one. What was the point of burdening everybody with his presence?

Chase took time to look up at the crucifix hanging on the wall. Suicide is a sin. This thought troubled him slightly. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, trying to get the image of Jesus' face out of his mind. Sincerely hoping Christ would understand, he carefully took the crucifix off the wall. "Sorry." he whispered, running a gentle finger over it.

There was something else he needed to do as well. He picked up the phone, and dialed House's office. He got the answering machine._ "You've reached Gregory House, M.D. If you have some petty problem you want to bitch about, hang up now. If you really need to reach me, leave your name." _

"House…it's Chase. I don't know why you fired me…I guess it doesn't matter, but I wanted to say sorry. Just…for everything." he paused, feeling tears stinging his eyes. "It's not your fault." With that, he hung up quickly.

Bringing his knees up to his chest, Chase wrapped his arms around himself and shut his eyes. He felt sick. He was terrified, and his pounding heart was doing nothing to calm his stomach. With a small jerk, he leaned over the toilet and retched weakly. Whimpering, he slid down to lie on the floor. He felt drugged, but he hadn't even taken one pill yet.

So he decided not to use pills. House used pills, and the similarity threatened to defeat the purpose. Running a hand through his hair, he looked blankly around. "Where is it?" he mused out loud, rummaging slowly through drawers and cabinets. His father had owned a Swiss army knife, and Chase had disgustedly thrown it aside somewhere when he had died.

"Well, House, you're getting your wish. I'll be gone soon. Don't come to my funeral." Chase talked to himself emptily, almost longing for some kind of reassurance that he was doing the right thing. Then it hit him. If someone were here, they would try to subdue him, rush him to some psychiatric hospital. Chase wouldn't let that happen. But, perhaps because of some distant subconscious cry, he left the door to his apartment unlocked. Shivering inexplicably, he laid back down on his bed. He was so tired.

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"I'm hurt." House whined, poking Wilson in the leg with his cane. "You're a meanie." He stuck out his lower lip, fixing his best friend with a puppy-dog look. Wilson sighed angrily, rubbing his forehead.

"House, would you just leave me alone?"

"I don't feel like it. Go get me coffee!"

"No!"

Scowling, House took a moment to sit down on the floor, laying his cane beside him. Wilson was about to ask what the hell he was doing when his friend cut him off.

"You don't have to knock me over! I'm a cripple, you heartless bastard!" House wailed loudly, causing several nurses and clinic patients to look up, startled. Wilson opened and closed him mouth, looking down defiantly.

"You…are…a baby! A big, whining baby!" the oncologist muttered, stalking away. House shrugged, picking himself up. A few people were still staring at him.

"It's okay, folks. He didn't know what he was doing." said House sagely. Feeling a bit more uplifted, he made his way to his office. A weight, however, was soon placed on his mind. He looked into the adjoining room almost ruefully. He could imagine Cameron sitting there, reading a book, while Chase made some of his hospital-famous coffee. Foreman would be…eating. Eating bagels.

House sighed, sitting down at his desk. He would have to find new ducklings soon. He wouldn't admit it to a soul, but he was almost _missing_ the old ones. Since it was his day off, he didn't even have to be at the hospital. He had no cases (Cuddy refused to give him any), but he did have clinic duty to get done. He was sure his boredom would have been worse than getting clinic hours in, but he'd been wrong.

He'd been stuck with a raging hypochondriac, a sneezing baby, a sun-burnt idiot, and quite a few more idiots with nothing wrong with them. House hated idiots. Looking for something to do, he quickly decided to check his messages. There was one new message. It was dated to five minutes ago.

_ "House…it's Chase. I don't know why you fired me…I guess it doesn't matter, but I wanted to say sorry. Just…for everything." _ House had nearly pressed the delete button when he heard his name in that familiar, Australian accent. But something in Chase's voice froze his hand to his side. _"It's not your fault." _ As the message ended, House frowned slightly. It had sounded as if Chase was preparing for his last day on earth. Suddenly, a thought shoved its way into his head, making his stomach clench. What if it was his last day on earth? Would he really…kill himself?

"Oh God." House whispered. Pushing himself up, he limped out of his office as fast possible. He shoved past people to get into the elevator without a word. One of his ducklings might be ready to kill himself. He wouldn't take that lying down. "Screw you, Chase. You won't do it!" he growled to himself, earning the glances of random people.

Throwing on his helmet, he practically kicked his motorcycle into life. Hoping he wouldn't get pulled over, House dared to go past the speed limit… quite a bit. He finally screeched to a halt in front of Chase's apartment. Leaving his bike illegally parked, he made his way directly to the elevator.

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Chase let the blade of the knife rest on his exposed arm, numb to everything around him. His breathing was shallow, and his eyes were beginning to sting from staring at his wrist for so long. _Just do it, Robert._ He thought, rocking himself back and forth like a small child.

Clenching his teeth, the young doctor eyed the vein running down his arm. It was life. Blood was life. Without it, death would be immediate. The human body was too delicate. It took almost nothing to shatter it. The mind was the strongest, but even that didn't take long to break. If you kept dunking someone underwater for days…even hours, they would eventually drown. It couldn't be stopped.

He was poised and ready to cut when there was a knock…no, more like a desperate bang at the door. Chase jumped. He was torn between ending it all now and rushing to open the door and just forgetting all that had happened.

"Chase, damn it, open the fucking door! I know you're there!" House yelled, about to actually start banging on the wall. He hoped that the Aussie was most of the coward that he had labeled him to be, because then he probably hadn't tried to commit suicide. Yet. House continued to bang on the door, noticing the desperation in his own voice. No matter what anyone might think, he didn't _want_ Chase to die! Sure, he may not have liked the kid that much, but Chase was one of his ducklings! _His_ ducklings!

"I'm sorry!" House tried, still getting no answer. Scanning the wall in front of him, a small idea popped into his head. He reached down and tried the knob. With what felt like luck from the heavens, it just opened. House limped inside, looking into each room he passed.

He didn't have to look far. In the bathroom, tucked against the tub in a semi-fetal position, was Chase. His normally smooth locks were quite messy, and he wore nothing but a simple gray long-sleeved shirt and jeans. He didn't look up when House slipped into the room, but the older doctor could see him tense up, seemingly frightened.

Without a word, House's electric blue eyes scanned the young doctor for injuries. He had none. Then his eyes fell upon the knife. It was a nice model; very sharp. Very efficient. Stomach twisting, House quietly took a seat next to Chase, not too close, but near enough.

The Australian regarded him warily, hunching his shoulders. House watched as the hand holding the weapon began to tremble a bit. In fact, his entire body was trembling. House suppressed a wince. There must've been something wrong before he'd been fired. House knew people didn't just crack because they'd been fired. Chase was relatively talented. He could easily get work.

"Why, Chase?"

"Leave me alone."

"Mm…I don't think so. You see, I really can't let you die. It'd be a lot of paperwork on my account."

Chase let out a bitter huff of laughter. "Screw you."

House now had the good grace to wince. His mind was already at work, giving him dozens of ways he could handle this. Letting Chase speak his mind was big on that list. He stayed silent, studying the younger man carefully, taking in every detail. Chase seemed to notice.

"You always think you know more about people than they do themselves. You really think you know everything!"

"Don't I?"

"You don't know anything about me."

"You have great hair. You're a wombat. What's to know?"

"My dad never cared for me. My mum, you know, she was just an alcoholic. I used to take all of her crap, all of her beatings." Chase was almost speaking to himself. "Then when my mum died my aunt sent me to the seminary. They were…strict." He paused, hazel eyes glassy, as he went back to some distant memory.

"I've got a scar…on my back, it's small…but it hurt like hell." he whispered, beginning to keep the knife a bit further away from his skin. House noticed, and he began to breathe easier.

"You can't kill yourself."

"Why not? What they hell do you care?" sniffed Chase, turning an icy glare on the other doctor. "You fired me because you needed 'a change'!" House tensed again.

"Chase." he said quietly, fingering his cane. "Why?"

"Have you seen my life lately? It's pathetic! You hate me. Foreman hates me. Cameron just wants sex. Wilson doesn't care. The hospital doesn't care. I've got _no one_!" Chase's eyes were slowly tearing up. The saddest part was that House couldn't completely reject the intensivist's reasoning.

"I think you're a suck up, a coward, and a mediocre doctor. But I don't hate you. Why does everyone assume I hate everything?" House snapped.

Chase seemed genuinely taken back by this news. He opened his mouth slightly, and then turned away, shoulders twitching. House moved a bit closer to him, biting back a small groan as his leg protested. He put a hand on his back. "Just stay with the living for a little while longer, got it, Chase?" he said. House then realized with a small jolt that he actually felt sorry for him.

"C'mere…" ordered House quietly. With the intention of getting Chase off the floor, House tugged at his sleeve a bit. However, the stubborn Australian wouldn't move. So, what else was there to do but let him cry? House leaned in and pulled Chase against his chest, running a hand over the kid's back, surprised at how thin he really was. Chase, now sobbing openly, pressed his forehead into House's shoulder. He held onto the older doctor with childlike desperation, refusing to let go.

House pushed the knife out of the way, watching it skid to a halt near the base of the sink. Although Chase had somewhat calmed down, he still ran a hand up and down the younger doctor's back.

"If someone finds us like this I'll murder you." said House gently. He couldn't see anything over Chase's blond mop of hair, but he was sure that he smiled.

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"Thank God you went!" said Wilson, shaking his head in disbelief. House nodded slowly.

"I don't think he would have done it."

"But still," muttered Wilson, trying to lighten the moment. "This means that you _are_ human after all!" The oncologist smiled at his friend's scowl.

"Oh no… but I've spent so much time building up my reputation as a heartless demon!" sniped House, leaning back in his chair. He twirled his cane thoughtfully. "We'll just leave it at half-human."

.Fin.

_ Did you love it? Hate it? Did it melt your heart? There's nothing like a good helping of angst! _


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